


Deeper than Emotion

by heliocentrics



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Crying During Sex, F/M, Falcon sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, its canon fuckers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 12:37:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14497146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heliocentrics/pseuds/heliocentrics
Summary: Part of her knows this is a bad idea. She knows they’re both pent up and fraught with emotion— with that nervous anticipation that accompanies any plan, any calculated risk, and triumphant exhaustion once it’s over.But it’s more than just adrenaline, she realizes; that thick tension, distorting their every interaction, is just as present now as it ever has been.





	Deeper than Emotion

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to clara, nole, abby, becca, chole and a ton of other amazing girls in my """shit-talking""" discord. I love all of you so much and we can withstand anything 

Rey launches the _Falcon_ into hyperspace seconds before a cannon bolt can connect with the hull of the freighter. The _Finalizer_ ’s imposing hull streaks out of sight behind them, and she finally breathes a sigh of relief. “So much for a smooth escape plan.”

 

Ben is in the co-pilot’s chair next to her, head pressed against the seat as he takes deep breaths of relief in and out. “Next time, _you_ get to fall victim to a mutiny.”

 

Rey scoffs, crossing her arms. “ _Fall victim_?” She gives him a glance out of the corner of her eyes, before pretending to study the warped starfield in the viewport. “Please. I’m not the one who killed my master.”

 

She can see him visibly tense at that; she know she should stop, they should just drop it and get some rest before the next inevitable onslaught of enemies, but it’s like she knows what will come next. If she keeps poking and prodding long enough, she’s bound to get a reaction. “I did it to _save your life._ Either he died, or you did.”

 

“Well, lot of good that did us,” She huffs, gesturing to their ship, traveling at lightspeed. “We might _both_ end up dead before this is all over.” She flicks a few switches, directing the Falcon’s navigational computer to random coordinates in wild space, before sliding up from her seat—“If you’ll excuse me—“ hoping he’ll take the bait.

 

Thankfully, mercifully, he does.

 

At first it’s just a hand placed delicately on her leg. She’s facing away from the console, turned as if to leave, while he faces toward it, sat back casually against his co-pilot seat. His hand is large enough to span most of her thigh, reaching around to sink the tips of his fingers into her soft, pliable skin.

 

Then she feels him inch his fingers up, and she grips her nails into the headrest of her now-empty pilot’s seat, so hard she’s afraid she’ll tear the leather. Her breathing shortens, until she’s holding it, as his hand leaves her thigh and gravitates towards her hip, index finger finally tucking into the waistband of her pants.

 

“We’re not done yet.”

 

Part of her knows this is a bad idea. She knows they’re both pent up and fraught with emotion— with that nervous anticipation that accompanies any plan, any calculated risk, and triumphant exhaustion once it’s over.

 

But it’s more than just adrenaline, she realizes; that thick tension, distorting their every interaction, is just as present now as it ever has been. And she can feel it coming to a boiling point, too; they’re alone, physically present with one another, for the first time. The thought should make her nervous— being alone with him— but it only emboldens her.

 

“Oh?” She parries back, bringing her hand up to her waist to rest on top of his. There’s this undercurrent of apprehension, tinged with dread, that colors his tone, his mannerisms, the look in his eyes when they slide up to meet hers, and she knows if she can work on him, she can chip away at it, replace it with something else entirely. “Did you want to keep talking?” Her voice is barely louder than a whisper, her hand creeping down to close around his wrist.

 

Ben makes a noise, in the back of his throat, that Rey doesn’t dwell on. He’s leaning up to her as she presses closer, extending over him. The back of his head somehow still rests against the seat as his chin juts out, nose upturned. “Not particularly.”

 

She separates his hand from her hip, and at first the move seems to offend him— his lips part, and his eyes widen, just slightly— but she quells any fear of rejection when she slides down into his lap, placing her hands on his shoulders, then up to his neck. His palms settle against her hips, keeping her pressed onto his lap.

 

“I agree.”

 

Their eyes stay trained on each other for a long time, just breathing, neither of them taking that initial first step across that line. She can see his eyes dip slightly, from her own gaze down to her mouth, and then back up. At first she thinks he’s asking for permission to kiss her, touch her, but before she can reciprocate, he crushes her lips to his.

 

She leans into the kiss, into his touch, becoming more insistent as his hands travel up her back and around her shoulders, pressing her to him before he tangles long fingers in her hair. It’s passion that started this, she understands faintly, with her hands on his ribs, tongue in his mouth, passion that brought his lips to hers. But something else keeps them connected, keeps their skin touching. It’s deeper than the surface level, even deeper than emotion, she thinks.

 

She loops one leg over to straddle him, her thighs pressed against his waist. She can feel him, hard against her legs. His hands are fervent now, more insistent, and even when she tries to slow him down, it only makes him faster. He’s yanking at the gauzy fabric wrapped around her shoulders, sloppy insistence that he’s too busy to correct, and then that’s discarded on the metal flooring. She’s kissing down his cheeks and across his jawline, and when she meets that section where his doublet conceals his shoulders, she tears that away, until the gets the message, and soon it’s gone on the floor, too.

 

Their lips only disconnect long enough for him to pull her shirt up and off of her shoulders, tossing it onto the floor, where it joins that navy fabric. She’s wearing only her breastband now, and her increasingly damp pants, and when they’re together again, Ben’s lips travel from her lips and across her jaw, down her neck and shoulder and under her chin, touching her everywhere he can, as if she’ll disappear from his grasp in a matter of seconds. She can only hold on to him, touch him, head pressed against his neck as he takes what he will.

 

“You have no idea—“ He says between kisses— “how long I’ve wanted—“ his breath is hot against her skin— “to touch you like this.” His voice, rasping and heady, breaks off at the end, as if he can barely spare the energy to eke out those words.

 

At _this_ , his fingers brush against her in _just_ the right place, just above her clit— when did he get down _there?_ The feeling is muted, but she still gasps against his skin, and he barely gives her any reprieve as his palm presses against her breast, and that’s when she realizes some of her clothes are still on.

 

Her nipples tense and harden under his touch, and she reaches behind herself long enough to unwind the coarse brown fabric away from her body until there’s nothing left, and after a moment of just staring, watching her, drinking her in, Rey guides Ben’s face down to her chest, letting him put his mouth on her breasts while her hands take his, showing him her touch. She's pushing his fingers towards the waist of her pants, and _oh,_ she cants against him, but he finds the band eventually, and presses down, peeling her pants off and away from her.

 

At the same time, she’s searching around his own hips, gripping and pressing as she tries to undress him long enough to get his erection inside of her, because _fuck_ he’s hard, she can feel him on her thigh, and it’s all she can think about, even as he works at her clit with his fingers, all she can think about is having him inside her, and the thought makes her eyes well up again. Finally, her fingers connect with a button, and a zipper, and she tears at it hungrily, pulling his clothing back and down and away until he’s exposed to her, but before she can react, he’s making it _his_ goal to undress her completely.

 

At his physical insistence, she brings her leg back over to the other side of him long enough for him to tug off and discard her pants on the floor, and as she tries to hook back over she’s reminded of how _inexperienced_ they both are, just blindly grasping at one another, all awkward and clumsy limbs. The thought nearly brings her down. _Almost_.

 

Because when the pad of his fingers reconnect with the bead of her clit, she’s already forgotten that, already forgotten _everything_ except him.

 

When his first finger leaves her clit to enter her, she can’t breathe, her eyes shut tight at the pain and the pleasure. Her face is still pressed between his neck and his shoulder, arms wrapped entirely around him, pressing kisses to his skin when she’s not gasping. “Oh. _Oh_.”

 

The second finger makes her buck against him, and she detaches herself from his neck long enough to throw her head back, eyes scrunched up in a wave of exultation, and she might worship him if she could. “Fuck, fuck, Ben, fuck, oh my _god,_ yes—“

 

“You’re so tight,” He whispers against her, voice cracking as his breathing quickens. “ _God_ , Rey.” Her name in his mouth, rumbling up through his chest as he thrusts, makes her whine— she’s distantly reminded of the first time she’d heard it, on the lift to Snoke’s throne room, and the memory of their combined strength, their _power_ — makes her tremble as she’s fucked by him, digging her nails into his shoulders as she feels his fingers inside her.

 

At first she thought it was sweat, or maybe her own kisses, but distantly she realizes it’s _tears_ that wet his face, his own tears, and inexplicably, that brings her even closer to that invisible line where she knows she’ll break apart. She leans forward long enough to kiss one trail of moisture, then buries herself back into his shoulder. She can’t hear or feel anything that isn’t him, and when she brings her head up long enough to meet his eyes, his entire self is painted in shades of blue from the starfield of lightspeed behind them.

 

And then he’s in her, and she’s that much closer, as any semblance of focus shatters and she’s back in his control, in the palm of his hand as he works furiously at her clit, forcing her up with her back arched until she’s riding him, until she’s mastering him again.

 

“Fuck.”

 

That emotion— that _something_ deeper, deeper than either of them have felt before— simmers to the surface, taking their souls with it, and when she screams, and he sobs, she does not know why, only that it feels right.

 

He’s grounding her with a hand on her hip, fingers barely reaching down to brush her ass, but before long he’s reaching up and over her again, entwining himself with her as she presses the crown of his head to her shoulder, sniffing against her skin as he lets her ride him, and it’s like the switch has been flipped, that one moment she belongs wholly to him, completely under his control, and the next he’s like putty in her hands, molding to her every move.

 

She wants to see him, though, she realizes— wants to see the way she’s making him feel, so she reaches down to grab his chin and forces him up to meet her eyes. She almost regrets it, because he’s conveying nothing but naked vulnerability then, in her arms while he’s inside her, tears streaking down his face. She sees his lips quivering, brow furrowed as that emotion overtakes him, and instinctually presses her lips to his, stilling them, as she continues to ride him, her hands cupping each side of his face, her frame moving up and down on his dick.

 

He tears away long enough to look at her again. “You’re so beautiful, Rey. You’re…” He stops, emitting a shaky groan against her as she takes him higher. “You’re so beautiful.” He leans down to press a kiss to her neck, inhaling sharply and letting another sob rack his body.

 

After another untrackable span of time, he presses her back, stands up, and then she’s leaning against the console of the ship, her back against the cool smooth display. One of his hands rests on her hip, slightly gripping her cheek again, the other propping himself up against the display. She’s not the one riding him anymore, she’s in his control again, as the switch flips back— and he’s pumping inside of her now, pressing her to him and away from him so hard and so _good_ she feels herself scream. It does hurt, at first, as he’s finding a different pace to let himself finish in, but when he feels her recoiling, slightly, he relents, and locks into that perfect speed, and that pain morphs into a pleasant ache she finds herself craving each time he pulls out long enough to push back inside her.

 

She’s always needed this, she wants to say, _always_ , but she can barely manage the short, insistent breaths against him as he leans over her form, growling and grunting in her ear as he pounds into her. “Yes,” she finally ekes out, “yes, yes, oh, yes, Ben, yes—“ and she’s reaching that apex, that point where she’ll never come back from.

 

“Rey,” He echoes back to her, low and fierce in her ears. “Rey.”

 

She feels him spill inside of her before the groan leaves his lips, and he collapses against her, shaking and sobbing again, and she’s crying too, and they’re wrapped around each other, their arms curled around torsos while their faces find that crook in each other’s neck to rest in, to breathe in.

 

“Fuck, Rey.” His pitch is higher now as he whimpers, as he gives himself over completely to that emotion. Sweat and teardrops wet the hollow of Rey’s shoulder, dripping onto the console beneath him.

 

After a moment, Ben holds her tighter to him, pressing her to his chest, and exhales as he slides the pair of them back into his seat— she’s still straddling him, and she takes the opportunity to press a round of kisses to his cheeks, his lips, his jaw, as he lets his tears fall.

 

“I love you, Rey.” It’s only a murmur, against her skin, and before she can respond, before she can have any kind of reaction, he pulls back up to meet her lips, just once. “I love you.”

 

She nods, dumbstruck, and quite frankly devoid of the emotional energy to consider those words, but against her better judgment, she closes the distance between them one last time, pressing her mouth against his, hoping they’ll lose track of the time they spend here.

 


End file.
